


Through the Night

by ladyarcherfan3



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Lucid Dreaming, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 17:26:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11833515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyarcherfan3/pseuds/ladyarcherfan3
Summary: Furiosa is at the Citadel.  The Fool is who knows where out in the Wasteland.  So why does she keep seeing him when she sleeps?





	Through the Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DoeOfTheWood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoeOfTheWood/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Chasing the Ghosts Away](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8569624) by [DoeOfTheWood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoeOfTheWood/pseuds/DoeOfTheWood). 



The fever produced terrifying dreams. Her days in the Vault came back to haunt her in new and twisted ways; the deaths she had caused replayed over and over. Ghosts hounded her heels like a War Party chasing her through the Wasteland of her burning mind. Hallucinations wheeled like crows, and twisted familiar faces into terrors. It went on until she was unsure of where she was and even who she was anymore. 

The fever broke in the middle of one night. The fire under her skin and in her blood went away, and the coolness of the desert night seeped in. She was almost cold. It was such a relief that she just sighed and burrowed into her blankets. After the fevered rest she wanted and needed true sleep. 

She found it, but only for a few moments. The cold of the Wasteland night slipped through her blankets, the bed she laid on shifted and reformed until she was cramped in the driver’s seat of a car. After so many nightmares and hallucinations, frustration filled her. She was so tired. But the strange dream didn’t change, so she resigned herself to it. 

Curled up carefully, favoring her ribs, she looked around the strange setting. It wasn’t the War Rig, where she expected her dreams to take her; it was a car, like a pursuit vehicle, but packed with weapons and supplies in a way that a Citadel vehicle would never have been. Realization hit her. It was the Fool’s vehicle. She had seen it when it had been brought back to the Citadel, had seen it afterwards when it was being turned into Razor Cola. Yet she hadn’t been involved with it, so it made little sense that she would be dreaming of it. 

Something rustled in the back of the car. 

She twisted and looked over the seat. Curled up in a blanket, almost hidden among the supplies, was the Fool. He twitched but didn’t wake. She blinked.

And woke. She was back in the Citadel, in the Vault. Miriam sat next to her, ready to check her fever, give her water. She let Miriam check the bandages wrapped around her ribs without complaint, answered the questions readily. After, she settled back down and slept again. There were no dreams this time. 

Her ribs and lungs healed, bruises faded away and she was able to get up and involve herself in reordering the Citadel without an Immortan. Though, there seemed little for her to do anymore, the girls, or The Sisters as they wanted to be called, had done the hard job of filling the power vacuum. 

Things were far from peaceful and smooth, but they were better than it could have been. Thanks to the Fool, who made sure she was visible and standing when they came back, they had gained entrance to the Citadel. And because of some half fevered realization before she collapsed, she’d made sure the sick War Boys and the Pups recognized the leadership of the girls. But everything else was done to their own intelligence, skills and drive, as well as the guidance of the Vuvalini. They kept things well in hand. 

Her body healed, but her mind and spirit struggled. She was no longer a Vuvalini, nor an Imperator. She did not regret what she had done in dismantling what Joe created, in killing him. He had deserved it a hundred times over for the things he had done to her. But she had also done terrible things, and by that logic she deserved punishment too. There was no denying that some form of punishment had been meted out - her childhood home destroyed, her people all but extinct, and her own identity was shattered. Still, there was a restlessness that crawled under her skin. The conflict on her mind wore her down as much as the lingering effects of her injuries. Nights found her collapsed in bed, hoping for sleep without dreams. 

Nightmares were expected fare, and she still had them, but the odd dream kept cropping up. It kept the same shape - she would find herself in the car, the Fool in the back. She felt more in control of herself than was usual in dreams, but she didn’t try to do more than sit through it. It was formless and peaceful in a way her other dreams and nightmares weren’t. Once the shock - and general annoyance - wore off, it was restful. Each time the dream happened, it lasted a little longer. From just a few moments in the front seat, to most of the night. 

The car was always undisturbed out in the Wasteland. And it was always parked somewhere different, secure and hidden, where the Fool could drive out in a hurry if needed. There were never any scavs arounds, only the stray lizard, snake or crow that passed by in the night. She stayed in the front seat, curled in her blanket and waited out the dream. The one thing that did change was the Fool. 

The longer she stayed in the dream, the more twitches and half formed sounds of pain and fear drifted from the rear of the vehicle. Nightmares were not hard to identify, but it was increasingly odd to her that he would be having nightmares inside her dream. If she was actually having a dream.

After yet another night of dreaming in the car with the Fool fighting nightmares, Furiosa sought out both Miriam and Saffi. 

The Vuvalini had always carried a wealth of knowledge with them, passed down from mother to child. The Many Mothers had been well versed in medical skills and terms, in plant identification and use, mechanics, and other myriad skills to survive in the Green Place and protect it from the Wasteland. But there had also been a large collection of stories and myths and many discussions around magic and supernatural elements, science, and where they might intersect. She hoped there might be an answer somewhere in all the stories. 

There wasn’t. At least there was not one that was clear cut. Miriam recounted stories about people who forged soul bonds, who shared blood, and had been able to see and communicate with each other in dreams or visions or in their minds. Saffi suggested it was lucid dreaming, where Furiosa was more in control of what her unconscious mind was showing her than was usual, and just hadn’t learned how to control it. 

Neither of these options had much appeal to her. To be bound across time and distance to someone like the Fool seemed impractical for both of them. They had slipped into working together, understanding each other like two gears made for each other, that was true. He had given his blood to save her, after she had saved him from being crushed in the run back to the Citadel, but they were no longer on the same path. It made no sense to be connected. But if they weren’t connected, why would she be having that dream, lucid or otherwise? Answers seemed far from forthcoming, so she shoved the questions to the back of her mind, and focused on what she needed to do to survive in the present. 

The dream didn’t reappear for a while, but when it did, Furiosa decided she had enough of sitting passive. Dream, vision, or whatever this was, just riding it out had offered her no answers, so when she found herself in the front seat, she turned immediately and leaned over the back of the seat. The Fool was curled up as he always was, face twisting and limbs twitching in the throes of a nightmare. 

“Fool,” she whispered, her own voice taking her by surprise in the silence of the Wasteland night. He jerked but didn’t wake. 

“Fool,” she tried, louder. 

Nothing. 

“Max?” The name was unfamiliar on her tongue. He had given it to her, but she had never used it before he left. Afterwards, she still referred to him as the Fool, even when The Sisters tried to correct her. It didn’t feel right, to use his name when he wasn’t there, when he had been reluctant to give it. 

He still didn’t respond.

She reached over the seat and touched his shoulder. His muscles jumped and twitched like she had hit him with a livewire, but he still didn’t wake. Some of Saffi’s talk about lucid dreams came back to her, and she gripped his shoulder a little tighter and focused her mind. There was one place she thought that both of them would have considered safe, a place where nightmares had once been chased away.

In an instant, the Wasteland night and the car had been swept away. Sunlight glared off sand as it headed for dusk, and the deep, powerful rumble of the War Rig surrounded her. She was no longer touching the Fool, but was in the driver’s seat. The Fool was slumped in the passenger’s seat, his face still creased and troubled. Before she could move, he gasped and jumped, ready to fight before he was even fully awake. 

It was just like that moment in the Rig when they had been going to the Green Place. But there was no sense of terror on their tails, no rush to get anywhere. It was just the two of them in the Rig, in the Wasteland. She took a deep breath and reached for him. 

His eyes grew clear as he tracked her hand, but he didn’t flinch away. She touched his cheek and caught his gaze. For a long moment neither of them moved. Then he relaxed, the tension running out of his muscles as he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. It wasn’t exactly the response she had been expecting, though she wasn’t sure what she thought would happen. 

“It’s okay. Get some sleep. Rest,” she whispered. The words just as true now as they had been that day. 

He nodded, the movement more felt than seen, and settled back again, his face smooth and breathing even. She settled back into her seat.

And woke in her room in the Citadel again. 

After that, she didn’t have the dream or vision again. If her own guilt had been finally assuaged, or if the Fool had found some comfort through a mysterious bond between them, she didn’t know. All she knew was that she had offered him comfort and help as he had done for her when she’d been bleeding out. 

She could only hope they both would sleep without ghosts haunting them from now on.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [ecouterbien](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ecouterbien/pseuds/ecouterbien) for her beta reading skills.


End file.
